


Bicoastal Shoes

by warriorpoet



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorpoet/pseuds/warriorpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tina and Amy's adjustment to their newly acquired transcontinentalism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bicoastal Shoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinful_caesar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinful_caesar).



> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

When Tina left, she never actually _left_.

Amy had said that to her, said "I can't believe you're leaving," and Tina had laughed and said "Come on. I'm not leaving. I'm gonna be working in Queens."

Amy's eyes had gone wide and she'd gasped in amplified, drop-jawed horror. "_Exactly_."

Tina rolled her eyes. "Stop being goofy about it. I'm not moving. I'm going to be living in the same place. It doesn't count as _leaving_ leaving unless it involves boxes."

"Then what's that?" Amy pointed to Tina's wreck of a desk, a stolen copy paper carton half full in an abandoned attempt at order and removal.

Tina snatched the box up, dropped it on the ground with a thud, and kicked it under the desk. "What's what?"

Amy smirked, her point proven. "You're leaving."

"Yeah," Tina sighed. "I know."

But she had no idea. There really was no leaving that place, especially for her, _especially_ that year, with that blessing mixed with a curse, smothered in weirdness sauce and shot out of Wasilla. She'd left, but she was back, and things were different, but they _weren't_.

And then it was over.

And then Amy left.

And when Amy left, Amy _left_ left. Boxes and moving vans and the works. She left, and it was Tina's turn to not believe it.

Things were different, and they stayed that way.

*

Tina found herself without anyone telling her when to stop.

That wasn't true. There were plenty of people to say, "You look tired," or, "Maybe you should leave this and come back tomorrow?". But she never listened.

She had never listened to Amy either, really. But Amy was persistent.

There was one time, years ago now, on a Wednesday night that was technically closer to Thursday morning, when Tina was woken up without knowing that she'd been asleep. She was startled by a nerf ball bouncing off the back of her head, regaining consciousness after she'd already shot up straight and dropped her pen.

"_What_?" she muttered as she turned to see Amy slouching in her office doorway.

"You need a break."

Tina picked up her pen from the floor and turned back to her work. "I'm fine."

"You were _asleep_."

"I was multitasking."

"I know what'll wake you up," Amy said in a singsong voice.

Tina winced and, against her better judgment, looked back to the doorway.

A pair of skates dangled by their laces from Amy's hand. The light winked off the blades as she wiggled her fingers.

"C'mon." Amy gestured in the direction of the elevators with a nod of her head.

"I'm really busy."

"And sleeping isn't going to help that!"

"But –"

Amy crossed the room and leaned down, gently resting her forehead against Tina's, bumping her glasses a little askew. Tina almost started going cross-eyed to keep looking at her, but gave up and shut her eyes instead.

"Please," Amy said quietly. "I know you need this, and you're not going to do it on your own. So let me help you."

Tina sighed, and before she could think of another good protest, Amy was grabbing her wrists and pulling her out of the chair, stuffing Tina into her coat and dragging her down the hall. Too exhausted to seize back control of her own limbs, Tina went. She let Amy hold her up in the elevator as they looked up and watched the numbers count down.

Down in the plaza they sat on the steps and laced up their skates, climbed the barricade and were thankful that only Prometheus was there to see it. Tina took back her body, moving her own arms and legs, feeling her blood start to move again as she circled the rink. She took a deep breath, her lungs stinging, the cold air like a shot of speed.

Amy glided alongside her, a tiny I-told-you-so grin on her face.

Tina laughed. "Don't say it."

Amy cackled. "I know."

Tina scoffed, her breath puffing in front of her. She smiled at Amy and held out her hand.

"Thanks," she said.

Amy squeezed her fingers, and they circled the rink together.

It became their thing, their secret of the winter months, their petty breaking and entering. Amy would drag Tina downstairs before she even knew she needed it, and they'd go in circles, holding hands. They held each other up and laughed as they tried to twirl like professionals, and they'd both be better for it. Skin burning when they went back inside, awake again.

With Amy gone, there was nobody to tell Tina that she needed to stop. So she just kept going.

*

The time difference was probably the worst thing.

The very nature of their years of work together, that in-step, instant results, act in the moment, yes-and, call-response, was what made it the worst thing.

Suddenly Tina found herself three hours in the future, Amy three hours in the past. For two busy people who grabbed their fleeting free moments where they could, it might as well have been the end of all communications technology.

There was phone tag, at first. Then e-mails that often went unanswered for a day or two. Tina felt jetlagged without ever leaving the ground, thinking in split clocks. Can't call now, she's just started for the day. Can't call now, she isn't home yet. Can't call now, it's too late here, too early there. Can't call _ever_.

They just lost touch for a while. Weeks at a time. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just one of those things.

Then there was an e-mail from Amy. One line that Tina read the morning after Amy wrote it.

_I love it, but this kind of blows._

She had to agree.

*

They ran into each other in the ladies room at the Emmys.

It was the first time they'd spoken in at least three weeks. Possibly more. Tina was losing track of things like that lately, some weeks seeming like a day, some days seeming like a month.

But there was Amy, her eyes lighting up as she held in a smile.

"Well, what's a nice girl like you doin' in a place like this?" she drawled.

Tina laughed and her hands went to Amy's face, to pull her hair, to get her in a headlock, to kiss her… she wasn't entirely sure.

"Yo, woah, woah. Hands to yourself, lady. This took, like, three hours to do; I'm not sitting through that again. In the _bathroom_." She pulled a gagging face and rolled her eyes.

"Right," Tina said, laughing again and shaking her head at herself. Her hands hovered in mid-air now, and she still didn't know what to do with them. So she reached for the bustline of Amy's dress and gently tugged it up.

Amy smirked and looked up at her from under raised eyebrows.

"You were kinda falling out there," Tina said, smoothing over her adjustment one last time.

"Oh, really?"

"All set!"

Amy smiled. "It's good to see you too."

Tina hugged her and thought about how ridiculous it all was.

But there was a crowd, and they were in the way, perpetually awkward even in their designer gowns and three hours of hair and makeup. They had to move, had to part, and then Amy was gone again with a smile and a wave and a little less light in her eyes.

Tina kept going.

*

Amy came back east just before Thanksgiving, and Tina didn't know it until she was already there. Nobody's fault. Just one of those things.

Amy was going to do a cameo on the show, so Tina went to surprise her on Saturday night. It still felt weird to be there and not have an office or a dressing room. Now neither of them did, so it was doubly weird to meet her in the greenroom.

It was just Amy, with the light in her eyes and less than three hours of hair and makeup, so Tina's hand went to one side of Amy's face, and her mouth to the other.

Amy laughed. "What are you doing here?"

"You're here."

Amy smiled down at the floor. "It's still weird, isn't it?"

"I was just thinking that."

Amy grinned. "Yeah."

"So, how are you?" Tina asked.

"Good… It's hard sometimes, y'know?"

"I know."

"I miss you a lot."

Tina gave her a small smile. "I _know_." She tapped Amy's hand with her own. "You look like you could use a break."

"Yeah?" Amy smiled slowly. "I don't think we can get away with it at this time of night." She gestured to the windows, the crowds below, the undecorated Christmas tree just a tree bound in scaffolding, Prometheus in a dry steel cage.

"Do you think we should go to dinner like normal people would?"

"We can _do_ that?" Amy gasped in amplified, drop-jawed surprise.

Tina laughed and held out her hand. "C'mon. Let's just go for a walk."

Amy squeezed her fingers and they circled the halls that weren't theirs anymore, the place that wasn't what they needed the break from anymore. The air was recycled and Amy's fingers were warm, but some things are always like coming home.


End file.
